


You're the Lightness in My Steps

by nothandlingit



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, F/M, Neighbours AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4639869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothandlingit/pseuds/nothandlingit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t know him all that well and it’s probably a terrible idea but, still, she finds herself calling out through the wall, “I’m coming over.” A Captain Swan AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the Lightness in My Steps

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’ve been having some trouble with writing lately and took it upon myself to find some AUs to help get my mojo back. If you’d like any prompts written, let me know so I can stretch my fic wings a little :) (This is also my first time posting to ao3, so hopefully this all works...)
> 
> “We live in adjacent apartments and our bedrooms are on opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you crying and talked to you through the wall” AU

“It’s probably nothing”, she says to herself as she switches off the lamp in her bedroom and attempts to close her eyes and block out the sounds coming from the apartment next door. Except that it doesn’t sound like nothing. It sounds distinctly like _something._

She leans a little closer to the wall, holding her breath and hoping she can make out exactly what’s going on in the room right next to hers. It takes a moment, but then she hears the quiet sobbing sound of a man crying and it pulls at something in her chest.

She doesn’t know him all that well; they’ve spoken in the corridor, swapped mail when necessary, not so secretly checked out the other in their gym gear (leading to subsequent ego boosting flirting of the completely innocent type), but their conversations have been limited by their busy lifestyles, which is how she finds herself in an unusual bind right now. Because asking him what’s wrong would be something a friend might do, knocking on his door with alcohol laced hot chocolate would be something she could do if she knew what he liked to drink, offering comfort in any form is something that is decidedly not her territory.

Except that he is _really_ crying in there.

She rolls over to face the wall, reaching out a hand to the thin plasterboard. She waits a beat, listening intently to ensure she isn’t just hearing things, then gently lifts a finger, tapping softly to get the attention of her neighbour.

There’s a hitch in his breathing and she knows he’s heard her. “Killian?” she calls out, “You okay in there?”

He doesn’t answer for the longest time, the air still and the wall seeming like an endless black hole between them, but then she hears the creak of the springs in his mattress as he rolls over to also face the wall. She hears a sweep as his fingers run across the opposite side of the plaster, a soft thud as though he’s dropped his head against the wall and, finally, she hears his defeated, “No,” spoken into the darkness.

She barely knows the man, but her heart nearly breaks for him. She inches closer, wishing she could just reach through the wall to offer him some kind of physical comfort, “Is there anything I can do?”

Her blood rushes loud in her ears as she waits for his answer; she doesn’t know why it means so much that he continues speaking to her.

When he does speak, his voice seems closer to her, as though he’s moulded himself against the wall in the same fashion she has. “Can I tell you a story, lass?”

She doesn’t hesitate, “Of course.”

He sighs and shuffles on his bed again and she swears the space beneath her palm is heating up as though his hand matches her position. “I didn’t have much family growing up,” he starts and she presses her ear against the wall so she doesn’t miss a word, “My mother passed away when I was young, my dad… well he wasn’t around. But I had a brother, Liam, and he was my everything.” A sniff, then, “He used to worry and fuss that I wasn’t eating enough, used to carry me to bed when I fell asleep on the floor, made sure I got to school on time and studied. All of it. He was there for all of it when no one else could be.” He huffs out a breath which Emma realises is almost a chuckle because, when he starts speaking again, she can hear the smile in his voice.

“We liked to pretend we were pirates, swimming out to little islands in the lake by our house and hiding our childhood treasures. Laughing as teenagers when we dug them up and realised what junk we’d really buried.”

She smiles at his memory, imagining Killian as a child and the antics he and his brother must have gotten up to. She wishes she could be there to actually take his hand and ease him through the rest of his tale.

After a moment, he continues, “It’s been five years since he died and you would think the idea of him not being around would start to grow on you, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t get better, it doesn’t dull. He’s gone and I’m starting to forget what that laugh of his sounded like.” A pause, “He truly made me feel less alone in the world.”

She doesn’t know him and it’s probably a terrible idea but still she finds herself calling out through the wall, “I’m coming over,” before pulling herself from her bed, grabbing her keys and stepping out into the hallway. It’s a gamble, but she feels like he’s speaking to her for a reason, like he needs the comfort of another person.

He sounds so lonely and her palms itch with the need to hold onto him.

She doesn’t knock, just waits until he opens the door, his face a mess of red eyes and tear tracks. It’s instinctual to pull him against her as his body collapses into a hug. He doesn’t speak but she can feel him shaking against her in defeat, his tears wetting the skin of her neck, his breathy sobs leaving emotional marks against her collarbone.

A hand runs through his hair, her whispers soothing and calm as she breathes that, “It’s okay,” into his ear, her lips just grazing his skin and setting her body alight in how completely dangerous and familiar this all is. It’s only when the door catches the breeze coming in through his window and closes behind them that they break apart, the clicking sound shocking them back into reality. Emma’s hand slides from the back of his neck, thumb brushing the scar on his cheek and her eyes catch his.

He licks his lips, holding her gaze and then slowly bows his head until his lips gently press against her cheek, a whisper of her name expelled in a heavy sigh. She swallows, her eyes closing, because it should not be like this. He’s her neighbour who she barely knows and, yet, he seems completely comfortable baring his soul to her.

“Thank you,” he whispers and, again, she feels that thrill run through her at how at ease they both seem to be.

She nods because she’s not sure she can articulate the right sentiment to reply with, but it seems to be enough for him as he returns the gesture then, seemingly realising that his neighbour has actually entered his home, smiles shyly and asks, “Would you like a drink or…something?”

Sighing in relief that she doesn’t seem to the be the only one having trouble wrapping their heads around why this is so easy, she nods, following him into the apartment and towards the kitchen, “Yeah, a drink would be nice.”

He rattles around in the fridge for a moment before pulling out two beers, kicking the door shut behind him and handing her a bottle, “I haven’t been shopping in a while. It’s beer or milk that’s probably out of date.”

She clinks the top of her bottle against his and downs a mouthful, “Beer it is.”

He follows her lead, taking a long pull from the bottle, Emma watching on as his Adam’s apple bobs with the motion, her own mouth suddenly dry.

Oblivious to any effect he has on her, he sets the bottle down and leans on the bench, watching his neighbour with a careful eye. “I’m sorry about all that,” he says slowly.

She shakes her head, knowing how hard it must be for him to have even opened up as much as he had, “Don’t be.” After a beat she finds her gaze lingering on him again and pulls herself back out of reverie with a question, “Does it help to talk about him?”

A hint of a smile crosses his face and she can see how much it affects him. She briefly wonders if having alcohol was a good idea, but then she thinks of sour milk and figures one beer won’t hurt. “It helps me remember him, yeah. He’s the kind of person who deserves to be remembered.”

Emma hasn’t had a great many of those people in her life, so she understands the importance of them and the amount of trust Killian is putting in her. “The people who make you feel less lonely should always be remembered,” she agrees, hoping he gets that she’s been through that kind of loss as well, that she can empathise so completely with him.

He’s got this look in his eye when he nods again, a simple, “Aye,” escaping him before he shakes himself out of whatever thoughts had been running through his head and gestures towards the couch. “I don’t know what the rules are for neighbours who bare their souls to each other in the middle of the night, but it would really be rude of me to send you home after drinking.”

She smiles at him, catching on, “I _could_ get lost.”

“And we couldn’t have that.” He makes his way towards the couch he had pointed at, “So, Netflix?”

…

She ends up falling asleep on his shoulder, his arm cradling her as he turns off the TV. On an anniversary he usually spends locked up alone on, he finds it kind of nice to have someone to share it with.

He tries to shuffle out from underneath her, not sure how she’d feel about waking up in the arms of a man she barely knows, but her small hand wraps around his shirt and tugs, her eyes opening and looking up at him clearly and honestly, speaking volumes without saying a word.

They stay locked like that for a good few moments before he nods and nestles back onto the couch, drawing a blanket over them.

“Do you feel less alone?” she breathes against his chest as she tucks herself in closer to him.

His voice is still rough from his tears earlier in the night, but he answers in the affirmative, “Aye.”

She feels his lips press against the crown of her head and smiles into his shirt, “Good.”


End file.
